Grief
by Dantefic
Summary: Sometimes, things are meant to be. Even if it hurts, Matthew Williams realizes this. After the death of his older brother, he searches for relief and acceptance in the most unlikely of places.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The first time Matthew had a panic attack, he was seven years old. He'd been at the store with his father, but saw a toy he liked. While he was gazing longingly at the stuffed bear, Matthew's father kept going, not realizing his son had gone. When Matthew looked back, he was alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

"Papa? Papa!" Matthew had yelled over and over again. He started to breathe fast. His heart seemed to be pounding out of his chest, and he felt more scared than he ever had been. A few minutes later, Matthew had felt strong arms pick him up and his father's voice in his ear.

Matthew kept having these spells of anxiety. Every time something happened, his breathing would speed up and get shallower, and his heart would pound, again and again and again. Eventually, Matthew found a name for these spells; panic attacks.

:-:

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" Matthew thought he'd never have to hear these words. Never have to reply to them, never be shaking and sobbing and breaking while he did so.

"Alfred-he he. He was hit. On his motorcycle. Help, please help," Matthew's voice cracked and he was on the pavement, kneeling next to his brother. Holding his pale hand and breaking.

Sirens came from behind, and Matthew looked up. His vision was blurred by tears and he seemed unable to let go of Alfred's hand.

Paramedics, a warm blanket, whispers and comforting murmurs, tears and a ride to the hospital. Everything was happening so fast, yet so slow. In the waiting room of the emergency department was the worst. Matthew sat in the hard plastic chair, looking at a magazine but not reading it for hours at a time. Finally, a solemn looking nurse called Matthew back 'to say goodbye.' Matthew managed to put one shaking foot in front of the other, trying to make it to Alfred's room.

The walls were white. There was a big sink with a mirror. The curtains were blue. Matthew looked at everything. Frantically searching for something-anything that wasn't his brother. Finally, truth smacked him in the face. Matthew's breath was stolen, and his heart beat too fast. It was dizzying, sickening. Alfred's eyes were closed and he was void of color. Then, there was the blood. Staining what used to be Alfred, the shell of him.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. We wanted to wait for you before we decided whether or not to take him off life support," the nurse tried to sound comforting, tried to make things better, but they couldn't be. Alfred was going- maybe even gone. Matthew collapsed on the bed, clutching at Alfred's lifeless, cold hand. The shell of his hero, his older brother. The one that used to wear bomber jackets and talk too much about his boyfriend, Arthur, and ride his motorcycle, always trying to get Matthew to go with him. The one day Matthew had risked riding the motorcycle, his brother had slipped from his grasp, into a body, kept alive with just tubes and wires.

Matthew wanted to believe that Alfred would wake up, but he knew he wouldn't, he couldn't. So he tried not to panic. Tried to say his goodbyes, but he just ended up a mess. A panicking, sobbing, gasping, shivering heap of misery. In a last act of desperation, Matthew picked up his phone and dialed the second number on speed dial; Arthur.

"Artie. I-I need you. I'm at the… the… hospital. I need you, please," Matthew shook with dry sobs. There was nothing left, nothing to let out, he'd already run out of tears to shed. What would go next?

"Mattie? What happened? How badly are you hurt?" Arthur was getting in his car now, speeding down the road. Just as he turned onto the highway, the line went dead; Matthew had thrown his phone against the wall.

As Arthur sped down the almost empty strip of road, he saw it. Police cars and ambulances gathered around something. When Arthur craned his head to look, he honestly wished he hadn't. There was blood, spotted all over the asphalt. And in the middle of it all, one motorcycle.

Immediately, Arthur recognized the american flag pattern and his stomach dropped. That motorcycle was his boyfriend, Alfred's. When Arthur walked into the hospital, a numbing sensation entered his heart. Whatever had happened, he was obviously not prepared.

Matthew, a shaking mess on the floor. Alfred, a body encased in a plethora of wires. "Oh, Mattie. Mattie, I'm so sorry," Arthur choked back his tears and clutched Matthew. "I-I'm going to say goodbye. Before…" Arthur stopped and bent over what was left of his boyfriend.

Nothing is more cruel than a last kiss. Kissing someone who once held so much life. Now, dependent on a clunky pile of machinery to even keep breathing. Arthur kissed Alfred like he never had before. Desperately and sadly. Tears fell from his eyes, landing on Alfred's face. Matthew was sitting down now, wishing he were dead instead. His brother didn't deserve this. An end like this.

:-:

Matthew tried to sleep. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He pulled his bear close to his chest and let his Papa stroke his hair. But every time he got even close to slumber, Matthew fell. Sometimes off a cliff, sometimes off the motorcycle. The scene played over and over in his mind.

The car coming and hitting them head on. Matthew jumping off before anything could happen to him. Alfred hitting the ground, then wheels bouncing off his chest. Crushing him, nothing Matthew could do.

The night ended up being a frenzy of panic attacks and crying. There was no option labeled sleep. Just panic, cry, and die. At some point, Papa left. At some point, Matthew dragged himself out of bed. At some point, Matthew picked up his knife. At some point, Matthew let the blade trace over old scars. Perfect, bloody lines on his arms and thighs.

At some point, Matthew thought about slicing his wrists with the knife. At some point, he almost did, but decided against it.

 **Hi, Dante here. This chapter was a kind of base chapter, setting the scene. I promise you there will be some fluff and romance in the future. I think this is turning out to be really angsty… XOXO, Dante.**


	2. Denial

Denial

 **A/N: It's so good to be able to update! Finally! TW for self harm.**

 _2 years ago_

Matthew blinked a few times, clearing the drug induced bleariness away. His head pounded as if it was being punched repeatedly and the world swam in and out. Once he felt that he had a grasp on reality, Matthew looked down. White. White all around him. Was he in heaven? Had it worked?

"Mattie. Oh god, Mattie. We thought you were gone for good. Dude, why would you do this?" Alfred's voice was gentle, but filled with hurt and sorrow. At this moment, Matthew knew that he was alive. He'd failed in his attempt to end his life.

"I'm a waste," Matthew sighed, running his thumb across the medical tape holding an IV into his hand. "Papa can't pay for all of my therapy, I get in the way of your football, and I'm stupid,"

"Matthew Williams. Listen to me right now. Papa is fine paying for your therapy. You are not getting in the way of my football. And most of all, you are not stupid. You are the sweetest, most sympathetic, cutest, and smartest little brother anyone could have. If I had known you were planning to do this, I would have quit the goddamn football team. I'll always be here for you. Nothing can get in the way of this, you're my baby bro, and I'm your hero.

Until that terrible day, two years later, it never occurred to Matthew that Alfred was only human, that he couldn't live forever or dodge the facts of life.

"Hey, Matt. I heard what happened,"

"Matthew, I'm so sorry about your brother,"

"My prayers go to Alfred,"

"I'm sorry that Alfred died,"

"Hey, Matthew. If you want to talk about anything, I'm here,"

All day. People finally knew who Matthew was. But not for a good reason. All day, Matthew was stopped in the halls, hugged by classmates who had never acknowledged him before, consoled by people who didn't know him as Matthew, but as the boy whose brother died.

"Hey, Matthew. I'm sorry about all the times I thought you were Alfred and beat you up. He didn't deserve to die like that, honest," a deep voice came from somewhere in front of Matthew. He looked up to see Carlos.

"M' fine," Matthew muttered. He didn't need to be reminded of what had happened. He'd lost the only person that was ever close to him. Carlos shook his head and put a dark hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"You're not fine. Your brother's dead and I never said sorry to him. I'll take you out for ice cream. It might not get better, but it can't hurt," Carlos replied. He pulled Matthew into a tight hug and Matthew was surprised to find himself hugging back.

"Carlos, you don't have to do this, I can pay for myself," Matthew tried to give Carlos a five dollar bill, but he refused. Matthew sighed and reached out for his ice cream. His sweater sleeve fell down his arm, and Carlos looked over.

"Matthew. What's that, on your arm?" Carlos used his free hand to lightly touch the fresh scars running down Matthew's wrist. It had been a week since Alfred had died, the memory was still fresh in his mind. Matthew flinched back, biting his lip.

"It-It-I-Um… I, uh," Matthew couldn't find the words. He distracted himself by licking his chocolate ice cream. Carlos linked arms with him and they walked out of the little shop into the frosty November air.

"You're cutting yourself," It wasn't a question, it was a blunt, honest statement. Matthew sighed and nodded. He couldn't hide it anymore. He'd slipped back into old habits. Old habits from when his mother died, and his father married someone that hated him. From when he was pushed around the halls and called names. From when he got teased because it was easy, because he couldn't fight back.

Carlos gently ran his thumb over the raised skin, making tears spring to Matthew's lilac eyes. Carlos shook his head sadly, it hurt him to see Matthew this way, the person he'd bullied in middle school, thinking he was Alfred. And suddenly, the pieces were springing together. Matthew's prolonged absences, the way he always wore long sweaters even in warm weather, even the dejected way he walked. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

Matthew shook his head. His ice cream didn't seem appealing anymore, and he just wanted to forget this. But something in him stirred. His cuts were almost a cry for help, and maybe Carlos had answered that cry. "I did it first when mama died. Then it just became comforting. Me and the blade,"

Carlos put his coffee colored hand on Matthew's shoulder, calloused fingers rubbing the soft sweatshirt. Matthew found this strangely easy, telling his former tormenter about all his troubles. Matthew felt a drop of cold ice cream on his hand and licked it off, the rich chocolate soothing him, just a bit.

"I'm sorry. It must be really rough on you. I know it'll probably be hard, but can you try to stop? I don't like to see you like this. I used to just push you around and stuff, but I didn't mean for you to hurt yourself. I-I didn't know," Matthew knew that Carlos meant well, but he couldn't forget the years of pain and silent suffering. Alfred had stepped up to Carlos a few times, forcing him to apologize to Matthew. But those other apologies were blatantly insincere, nothing like what he was saying now.

Matthew wanted to nod and say that he would never touch a blade again, but he knew it wasn't that simple. "I'll try," Matthew said, but his heart wasn't in it. Carlos seemed to brighten up just from hearing this, and Matthew actually thought of stopping or maybe talking to someone.

Carlos gave Matthew a quick one-armed hug, and Matthew laid his head on Carlos' broad shoulder, feeling safe in the other's strong embrace. "Hey, Matthew. I don't like the thought of you just going home. You could probably hurt yourself more. Well, I'd like you to come over. Just a sleepover, kay?"

Matthew contemplated the idea. He was alone, since his father was going to be in France working on business the rest of the year. He decided that he couldn't bear to spend the night alone, it would be nice to be around someone again.

"Yes. Uh- thanks. I mean, for inviting me,"


End file.
